


do me a favour

by unthank



Series: our favourite worst nightmare [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Exes with Benefits, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, Recreational Drug Use, Side Miya Atsumu/Kunimi Akira, Unreliable Narrator, atsumu realises everything he wanted to ignore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unthank/pseuds/unthank
Summary: Atsumu has mastered the art of avoiding what he doesn't want to see; he distracts himself with pretty kisses from pretty boys and never acknowledges, never realises, that he'll never gain back everything he lost with Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: our favourite worst nightmare [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954024
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	do me a favour

**Author's Note:**

> [it's these times that it tends to start to break in half, to start to fall apart](https://open.spotify.com/track/2BqfIlpahcebJPeu1IUTEo?si=0cwshbobQsuygYSFFSX7Dg)
> 
> cw: recreational drug use, mentions of blood (metaphorical), implied sexual content in parts iii and v

**i.**

Atsumu remembers a time where he could drive with all the excitement of going home to someone else. Where he’d press the gas pedal a little too hard, drive a little too fast, in anticipation for who he knew was waiting for him. 

He remembers when it stopped, when driving home filled him with dread. When tears on the steering wheel became a frequent commonplace, leaving stains on cheap leather and plastic for several hours and several weeks. Everything was bleak.

What he doesn’t remember, no matter how hard he tries to think about it, is when it all changed.

**ii.**

Lying in Kiyoomi’s arms has always felt like coming home to him. And even now, though this home has collapsed around him, crushing his heart and bones, he wants nothing more than to stay right there. Perhaps he can’t get enough of the pain. 

In this moment, Kiyoomi’s fingers are combing through his hair, one arm wrapped around his waist. For this moment, Atsumu can pretend that all is well. 

  
  


**iii.**

It’s the beginning of the end.

Atsumu knows he should’ve seen this sooner, he should’ve accepted it sooner, but he’s talented in missing what he doesn’t want to see — it’s both a blessing and a curse. He fell too much in love with everything, he fell too hard and too fast and he doesn’t think he can ever climb out of the grave-bed he dug himself. It’s measured to him, it fits him perfectly. What choice does he have but to lie in it?

And he hates this. He hates realising it. He hates knowing that no matter what he does, no matter how often he lies in Kiyoomi’s arms or lets Kiyoomi fuck him without feeling, it’ll never bring back what they lost. It’s all he wants. 

He hates more that he didn’t realise this sooner. He’s under an umbrella in the rain, holding a lukewarm drink he’d bought from a coffee chain he rarely visited, the coffee itself was burnt and somehow tasteless. But maybe that was just his heart in his mouth, letting him taste the ache he constantly nurses.

He’s standing here, in the rain, on the sidewalk. He’s standing there and he’s realising that nothing he does will bring Kiyoomi back to him, no matter what he gives him.

  
  


**iv.**

The city around him is all black, gold and blue. Atsumu loses himself in it, falls apart, breaks in half. If the city breaks his nose, it’ll be doing him a favour.

  
  


**v.**

In their apartment, somewhere in a cheaper, quieter area of Osaka, Kiyoomi has his mouth on Atsumu’s neck, teeth bruising tanned skin. He takes him apart with such precision that Atsumu is afraid he’ll be ruined for anyone else. No one else will make him feel like he’s on top of the world and buried beneath stars; he’ll never lose himself to anyone but this man on top of him.

_ I love you _ , he wants to say.  _ I love you more than I can breathe and I wish I had a way to tell you _ .

Kiyoomi never speaks when it’s just the two of them like this, entangled. Sometimes Atsumu wishes he would, he wishes that he’d say something, anything, that he’d let himself express whatever it is he feels. And he must feel something, Atsumu is sure of it. No one fucks their ex so delicately without feeling at least a moment of night-sharp desire. He wants to understand this man he used to so profoundly know.

But he’s hushed as he tries to speak. Kiyoomi touches a finger against his bottom lip, pushing until he’s pressing down on Atsumu’s tongue. He used to smirk when he felt how pliant he became, Atsumu notices, but he’s looking at him impassively, coldly, as if having him crumble beneath his touch is what he always expects.

Atsumu will give him that. He always will. He’ll take himself apart and lay barenaked before the cold marble god in front of him — if only to get him to stay one more night.

  
  


**vi.**

He’s somewhere north in Shinjuku, still unused to the rough hustle and bustle of Tokyo. He’s walking towards an apartment he’s only been to in the dead of night, when his vision swims and laughter bursts through his chest stronger than any serve he could ever hope to hit. And usually, in those times, he has another man in his arms, around his shoulders. He has him to tell him which way to go.

It’s not quite night and too many people are still around, swarming in and out of the creamy blue-gold of the evening sky. He could easily hop into a cab, pay his way there and give the address, not have to worry about getting lost in a place that should be familiar by now. But Atsumu has been to Kunimi’s apartment often enough that he thinks he should know the way with ease, not knowing would be admitting failure. And Atsumu hates failure.

He finally gets there, though, all worn out and half-frazzled. Kunimi’s apartment is smaller than his own, big enough to fit a twin size mattress and an old flatscreen tv. There’s stacks of DVDs on the floor that he hadn’t noticed before in all his drunken states. And there’s Kunimi too, laid out on his bed; elegant enough, damaged enough, to belong to a different sort of world.

When he kisses Atsumu, it’s like he’s kissing someone else. Atsumu knows this, he does, he accepts it every time. Kunimi’s kisses are sometimes Kiyoomi’s, sometimes taste like salted tears and wishes that never came true.

They’ve both learnt to ignore the way their eyes are red, the fact anyone can see that they’ve cried.

  
  


**vii.**

The first time Atsumu talks to Kiyoomi properly is when he’s smoked out of his mind, living up and on a planet far away from the one they should be on. Kiyoomi is quiet, but he knew he would be. He doesn’t even react when Atsumu reminds him of their boyhood kisses, shared over an empty bottle of Pocari Sweat in a dim lit room somewhere in the gym. It frustrates Atsumu, it does, so he kisses Kiyoomi again. This time he ends up in his lap, hands up his shirt and a tongue in his mouth — he thinks that he could get a different kind of high from this alone.

  
  


**viii.**

_ Do me a favour _ , he wants to say to Kiyoomi, his heart is cutting through his chest.  _ Do me a favour and tell me to leave _ .

  
  


**ix.**

There’s times, though they’re few and far between these days, where Atsumu’s life feels almost as it should be. 

He’s on the sofa, laptop on his knee and Kiyoomi sitting beside him, one arm around the back of their sofa, just behind him. Kiyoomi is reading a European book thicker than his thigh and Atsumu’s about to call Kita, to tell him everything he thinks he’s able to. Some days they used to be like this, before the domesticity was called off. When Atsumu could still call him his boyfriend they’d sit together, just like this, whenever he FaceTimed a friend or Osamu — they called as a family.

Today Kita answers from his bedroom, which is a mess from what Atsumu can see. Sheets and pillows are unaligned, left at all angles and far from the organised, tidy-to-a-fault man that he remembers from his high school days. There’s lovebites on Kita’s neck and, just for a moment, Atsumu wanted to say something. But a sharp cough from Kiyoomi deters him and he realises he’s looking at the screen with him, clearly aware of exactly what he was planning on asking about. 

Atsumu hates that Kiyoomi knows every part of him so well.

There’s a shuffling in the background of Kita’s call. Someone speaks in a low timbre, husky and tinged with an almost accent, like whoever it is isn’t used to speaking Japanese, but too well to be anything but a native of their shared tongue. Briefly he sees brown hair, soft in gentle sun-bleached waves and a toned body bend down, a kiss planted on top of Kita’s head.

Something twists in Atsumu’s stomach. Something hard and harsh and jealous. He makes his excuses, cuts the call, and runs to the bathroom faster than he can try to say goodbye.

The water from the sink is cold on his head, but it’s all he can do to let it run and wash away the ache in his bones.

  
  


**x.**

He spends more time with Kunimi than he’d ever admit to anyone. Not even to Osamu.

(Kunimi presses kisses to the corner of his lips, breathes out smoke from their shared blunts into his mouth, and never asks him questions.

“Curiosity is a heavy burden,” he says, eyes red-rimmed and far too old. “It becomes far too heavy to hold.)

He’s with him again today; entangled together in a sofa that’s far too old, thoughts further away than in the  _ chambre-de-bonne _ Kunimi let him escape to.  _ Just as ungrateful as he’s always been, no wonder you can’t keep your love. _

There’s a film called  _ Fish Tank _ on the screen and it’s making Atsumu feel like he’s sick. But Kunimi won’t turn it off, no, he works in a bank but he watches Western films like it pays him gold, like it’s a newfound religion.

  
  


**xi.**

You thought you could live like this, accept that he doesn’t love you. 

But you can’t, it’s eating you alive.

  
  


**xii.**

Atsumu knows everything is over when he’s standing in the rain, cold coffee in hand, near to crossing the road and when every light begins to blind him. He knows everything is finished when he’s shaking, crying tears he didn’t know he had left to cry.

And he knows he’s in the way of every other person. He’s blocking the crossing and keeping desperate salarymen from going home, stopping people younger than him from meeting with the people who love them still. Everyone around him is living their own private lives, and Atsumu is dying, he’s so sure he is. 

It’s everything — it’s nothing at all.

He doesn’t want to go home. He can’t face Kiyoomi in all the knowledge he has now; he would know, Kiyoomi always knows exactly what he’s feeling, how his moods can change. 

But who can he call now? Where can he go in his wild state of desperation? Osamu is entangled limb to limb and mouth to mouth with their old teammate from high school, basking in the sunlight that comes from being a boy well loved. Kita, he thinks, he feels in his gut, has found the love that Atsumu has lost. And Atsumu is selfish, he can’t be happy for him right now, not when his own stomach fills with needles, pricking him until he deflates once and for all.

It’s not surprising, in the end, that he ends up in Tokyo more often than his team’s home city. The anonymity of a place he doesn’t belong is a favour he can’t repay — it’s something he can’t stop himself indulging in.

And Kunimi doesn’t ask questions, he never has done. Atsumu could get used to this breed of silence.

  
  


**xiii.**

At age seventeen Atsumu sees himself as being on top of the world. There’s nothing that can touch him, nothing at all that can take him down, he’s a monster amongst the mortal boys that roam within his realm. Not even a boy made of ink-dark shadows can take him down. (Perhaps someone should tell him stories of boys who fly too close to the sun, of boys who follow their hearts down to deep pits of earth; not all boys get to live to tell their tales.)

  
  


**xiv.**

When Kiyoomi tells him to leave it’s with venom between his teeth and a shout that cracks through Atsumu’s skin.

It’d begun with fire spat between them, Atsumu snapping out words harsher than he had before, expecting Kiyoomi to ignore him, to turn away like he had for all these months. He’d been gone for over a week this time, not daring to come home and face the heartbreak he’d come to realise. His throat had been filled with bile all those days and Kunimi’s kisses tasted like ash in his mouth. He wasn’t fit to return to the kingdom he and Kiyoomi owned.

But instead of turning, instead of running like Atsumu is used to, Kiyoomi looks at him with every ounce of burning pain he didn’t know he felt.

His pitch-deep eyes fill with tears, drowning every ounce of night that lingers in him. For a moment, just a breath, a blink, Atsumu is sure he can see the stars he lost in Kiyoomi’s eyes once again. He wants to reach out, he wants to touch him, But can he — can he hold the man he knows no longer cares for him? 

Kiyoomi crumbles completely, falls to the floor in shambles. He’s never been like this, not even when he ended everything, not even when Atsumu called him colder than their winter’s snow. It’s as if the fight that broke apart Atsumu is taking hold of him, ripping him to shreds — there’s a wild animal inside his chest and it’s making him howl.

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, hushed, desperately. “Omi— tell me what you need? Ask me for help?”

But Kiyoomi looks at him with a poison Atsumu is sure will kill him all over again. The ink-night of his eyes turns to a trench, treacherous and deep, a place that no one has ever managed to venture to. Not Atsumu. Not anyone.

“Do me a fucking favour,” Kiyoomi hisses, his tongue a whip. “Don’t flatter yourself like that, you’ve never been one to listen.”

Something has cut Atsumu’s throat and he’s bleeding everywhere, all over the floor, his home; he’s bleeding into all his thoughts and he wants nothing more than to fight. If only Kiyoomi would hit him instead of cutting where it hurts.

And if there is a red string attached between them both, it snaps. 

Atsumu manages to rasp his words together, stops them sticking in his red-raw throat, “Saying ‘fuck off’ would be far too kind for  _ you _ , Sakusa.”

  
  


**xv.**

There was nothing left to do but to let his ribcage crack; it’s all he can do to bleed out ink-black night.

  
  


**xvi** .

  
Atsumu looks at him with every hope of seeing those stars again, if only for a moment. He remembers a time where he hoped to come home everyday, to have a place where he belonged. But not all things are meant to be and he knows now,  _ he remembers now _ , how everything changed and came to a half-sick end.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> this is the direct sequel to 505 and though it might not be what people hoped for, kiyoomi and atsumu's story is far from over. they have a ways to go before they can be in love again. it was hard writing this fic because it's in between them falling apart and atsumu trying to move on, i wanted to tell it but i tried to find a way to say it that wouldn't be repetitive. i think by showing his relationship with kunimi helps with that — atsumu is stuck in a strange state, kiyoomi is almost completely unknown to him currently. i think they both really need to work on their communication skills
> 
> a few notes:
> 
> 1\. the song for this fic is _do me a favour_ by arctic monkeys. to me it reflects how atsumu craves something, but he doesn't really know what it is, he's constantly seeking a favour from the world or the people around him  
> 2\. shinjuku city is a special ward in tokyo; most people here have probably heard of it, but we'll explore why kunimi is there in later fics  
> 3\. _fish tank_ (2009) is a british drama film. it deals with grooming and what is often the lives of working class people who live on council estates, its very good but i only recommend it if you look up the content warnings
> 
> thank you again for reading! 
> 
> you can follow my twitter for more updates on this series if you want to <3
> 
> twitter @[kuguken](https://twitter.com/kuguken)


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